Fourteenth Collection of Seven Dailies

“There are bears in my brain… Have you seen the light between the stars? It is a net! We are in a cage! Everyone dances…”
Standing on the roof of the building he looked down: the lights of days waxed and waned in quick succession all around, and the lines of moving things merged into an elegant pattern, but it was tattered like an old quilt. With infinitely greater graduality he saw lines of movement forming in the heavens: the stars were not separate points at all, but merely where these lines crossed. It formed an obvious pattern, how clumsy of them to give their design away. But no, they taunted us with something so clear: only those as buried-headed as mankind would be unable to see it. Even now he heard the groaning wheels of time and vision, like the howling of huge forest beasts. But he had seen enough at least to understand his friend’s torments.

Seek him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark with night: that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth: The LORD is his name:
Amos 5:8

A striking scene from an interesting book.

“A shaft of light forced its way into Cleveland’s mind. Into the beam appeared the most gruesome sight he had ever seen. The figure reached at least eight feet tall and eight feet wide. It moved with the grace of a ballerina.
Its constantly changing form confused Cleveland. Its body had no set form, but was amorphous, molding itself into the likeness of mythical and real animals, inanimate objects, and things for which he had no prior conception. It was a fiery oven, a tombstone, a mushroom cloud, a giant disembodied eye, an undulating mass of such horridness he could not conceive it.
Cleveland gasped for air. The images changed at breakneck speed. The figure in Cleveland’s mind seemed liquid the way it convoluted and changed, but the images it portrayed were crystal clear. Cleveland saw all that was evil: Hitler, Lenin, Jack the Ripper, werewolves, the dark man, pentagrams. He stared into the face of death itself.
The worst was the mouth. The mouth remained stationary as the changing images revolved around it. The mouth was bottomless, sucking the images down as water in a maelstrom. Cleveland felt his body being pulled toward the mouth as if he were about to tumble down an endless shaft. Flames glowed in the immeasurable distance.
…
“Red is the color of blood. Red makes me feel danger. Red is pain,” it said, taunting Cleveland with the Prism Chant. “Black is the color of the grave. Black makes me feel lost. Black is death.”
Cleveland drew himself up. “But the blood of Christ saves us from the grave.”
In place of the horrid approaching mouth, a scripture appeared in his mind as clearly as if a Bible were suspended in front of him.
The Reverend James Cleveland lifted his eyes toward heaven as if he saw the glory of the Lord of Hosts. In his mind, the dark and dusty storeroom beamed with the light of a thousand suns as the ceiling gave way to the realm of the spirit world.”

– From The Dark Man by Marc Schooley

A portal sequence from 2014 notes, from when I was first working out the Portal cosmos. A boy is being taken from the Home Front (Earth) to the Front by an old woman.

“She moved with the confidence and skill, if not the strength, of someone in the military.
He asked her how old she was.
“I am two.”
He squinted as he tried to figure that out.
“Then, how did you learn to talk? …or anything?”
She bent down to look in his eyes, her own eyes moist and quivering with her age and earnestness.
“I… had… a great… teacher.” Then she straightened herself and walked on.
“Then what happened to your hair? Why are you so old?”
She looked over her shoulder at him sadly.
“I was not a great learner.”
…
The sound of the rain stopped suddenly. There was no rain falling around him. The drops of rain fell back up into the sky like the bars of a rising portcullis. The sudden almost complete silence made his ears feel warm and tingling. Without the rain falling on his wet back he felt very cold, and wished he had been allowed to bring his coat.

Whatever force that had suspended the rain was removed, and it fell all at once like someone had dashed a pail of water over everything. Then it went on raining as before. His legs felt shaky, and he had cold chills. He felt like he had not eaten in a long time, but he did not feel hungry. She turned to him and cupped her hands on his cheeks.
“This is Fairyland, and you and I are Fairies… And everything is… Wrong… And we will fix it… Till we die!”
And then she walked off down the street. Julian hesitated a moment before he followed.
“Yeah, she really is only two.” ”

– The old notes of Patrick

I was surprised to find a picture on Pixabay that actually matched the specific scenario somewhat.

“Second edition of Nathaniel D. Lauser’s coloring book soon to be released!

It has six new pictures, one of which flourisheth below!”

[UPDATE: he has sold fourteen or more by now, and has given one to Ken Ham, and one to Stuart Burgess the scientist!]

Another glimpse: an older, larger, and favorite project of mine which will hopefully be revamped in time for Christmas.

It is called Auldhame.

Christian Storytellers Manifesto

“Christian storytelling is facing a crisis.

Though good intentions abound, many Christian stories in the 21st century are cheesy, unrealistic, and artistically bland.

We want to change that.

Today we’re releasing our Christian Storytellers Manifesto, a series of resolutions that urges Christian storytellers to embrace a bold vision for Christian storytelling.

The Christian Storytellers Manifesto…
– Defines what we believe great storytelling looks like.
– Declares our resolve to aim for excellence.
-Unites like-minded storytellers to support one another and raise Christian storytelling to new levels.

You can join the movement with 3 simple steps:
1. Read the Christian Storytellers Manifesto.
2. Add your signature to the Manifesto.
3. Share the Manifesto with your writing friends.